


I'm Addicted To You

by J3 (CaseMatthews)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Human Pet, M/M, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseMatthews/pseuds/J3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets caught pick-pocketing by a seraph, he's pretty certain he's in really deep shit. But when said seraph just smiles and lets him walk off free without so much as a slapped wrist (although he's pretty sure he's got a sprained arm), Dean knows he can't let him go without some kind of 'repayment'.</p><p>Two years later, Dean convinces himself every time he lays down for just another job that Castiel isn't all he thinks about. And when Castiel sees him for sale at a slave auction, well. Who can resist pretty green eyes and chains?</p><p>Seraphim = the highest class of people, pretty much feared by everyone else. They can own notorious 'Garrison pets'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Addicted To You

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Ai No Kusabi, the anime (I have been recently informed :))!
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> Thanks for clicking :)
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> **For the forseeable future, this work will not be updated. But if you subscribe it may some day earn a new chapter but I wouldn't hold your breath chickens!!

Seraphim:-      highest class of people, generally noticable. They live in the city-building of Garrison, a way off from the slums.

Slums:-            the people who live here are thought of as mongrels, they're the lowest of the low, generally all thought of as whores.

 

Castiel doesn’t generally make Dean stay caged in all day, but Dean was a bad little pet and now he’s being punished like one. Cas’ words, by the way. The way Dean sees it, he did absolutely nothing wrong and this, this stupid fucking, boring-ass room with stupid white walls like a _stupid fucking mental asylum_ is totally unjust torture. And what exactly did Dean do? He didn’t badger Cas when he was clearly too busy working to sort out Dean’s needs, so Dean sought out that edge somewhere else, so fucking sue him! He didn’t distract Cas with his dumb pet needs and now he’s being punished. Sure, ‘cause that’s a fair little game. Well, damn him, stupid seraph he is, total unfair asshole that just likes seeing Dean tied up the kinky son-of-a-bitch, with his dumb blue eyes and his moronic hands and that soft way he says Dean’s name when he’s coming…

Dammit.

No, Dean, he’s a dick. _Clearly_.

Dean just sighs against the restraints and allows his body to sink down into the sheets for the first time in, like, a decade. Damn, he’s gonna be sore tomorrow. Maybe if Dean repents to his satisfaction, Cas’ll give him one of those awesome massages and rub oils and other slippery shit into Dean’s _aching_ muscles because he’s _so_ sorry. Heh. Honestly, it’ll probably work.

And then the door slides open and Dean’s bucking like a bronco again because his mind doesn’t have the capacity to apologise and still be pissed at the same time. And because, damn him, he doesn’t need Castiel; not for whispered words or massages or orgasms. He can deal, just like he always has.

“I swear, you were calm just a second ago,” Castiel says and Dean can _hear_ the smug smile on his bitch face and he’ll knock it off, no problem.

“Fuck you!” Dean cries, finally uplifting the blanket Cas swaddled him in when he ran away that morning because _‘I don’t need you catching pneumonia left up here by yourself all day’_. “Let me up, you pompous piece of shit!”

He’s walking over all slow like, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and under the collar of that pale blue button down he knows Dean likes… _ugh! Shut up!_

“So I’m assuming you haven’t quite learnt you lesson yet, then?” he says, and Dean wishes his legs were free so he could kick the asshole when he sits down on the side of the bed. Instead he just growls like an animal and scowls like some scandalised chick. Yeah, well, he feels like one.

“You can’t keep me here forever and there’s no fucking way I’m apologising for something I didn’t do. So I guess we’re _stuck_ ,” Dean snarls.

“Not stuck, Dean,” he says, his hand moving to recover Dean’s midsection with the blanket. His fingers don’t meet Dean’s bare skin for a second. “And for future reference, your apology means little to nothing to me. I just need your word that you will never pull a stunt like the one you just did ever again, and I need you to follow through with it.” He leans in like a cobra until his lips are inches from the shell of Dean’s ear and Dean can feel every word as it escapes in his breath, “Do you understand the embarrassment you’ve caused for me, Dean?” They’re not touching but Dean can _feel_ Cas. “Do you know what your mindless actions have done?”

Dean gulps and shakes his head because answering Cas is second nature now and there’s really not much he can do about that.

“No. Of course you don’t, Dean, because you’re all about _you_ , aren’t you? You never think of the things I have to do, or the repercussions of your own ignorant decisions on other people. It’s all just about Dean, isn’t it?”

Dean’s body’s really fucking confused because the words coming from Cas’ mouth are mean and total lies, but the way they touch his skin and when his warm breath pools along Dean’s cheek, it’s the same way he talks when he’s got his hand around Dean’s junk. And Dean can see, his hands are nowhere near that area. But just being near where Dean can feel his body heat is enough for Dean to want it. And he’s pretty sure that’s some messed up psychology shit right there, Dean pining over his captor and his dick becoming very interested without even a single touch. He’s like a trained mutt.

“ _Cas_ …” he tries, but the man’s having none of it and his hands stay a torturous distance away, rested politely on the bedspread. Yeah, sure, the dude chooses this moment to be _polite_.

“You’ll both be lucky if anyone wants her now, Dean. Do you know how much an academy trained pet is worth in auction? An academy trained, _pure_ pet with big brown eyes and an innocent demeanour to trial Bambi? No?” Dean shrinks lower into the mattress. “Well, how about this, how much do you think a sullied, academy pawned pet is worth, who is, by all intents and purposes, now nothing more than a common _whore_?”

“ _Fuck you_.” Dean means to shout it but it comes out as a pitiful little hiss.

“Did that touch a nerve, little one? But maybe that’s it, is it? You don’t like being the only slut in the playpen so you decided you’d make another. Well, how very _creative_ of you Dean, you’ve effectively ruined a girl’s life.”

He’s bowed over Dean now, arms pinning him down even tighter, but without touching; one hand just above his right shoulder and the other hovering beside his left row of ribs. Those burning azure eyes are bare millimetres away from Dean’s own and if Dean lifted his head a hair width up, their noses would bump.

“You bought one,” Dean mumbles, leaving no choice but to meet with those eyes.

Castiel goes back to his ear. “That’s because I’m a freak.”

“She wanted it just as much as-”

“Shut up. I don’t care if she fucked you in your sleep, she is no longer a virgin and you have cost the academy money which I will not be paying back. And if that means I have to pimp you out, so be it.” He doesn’t mean that, he would never let anyone else touch Dean, he hates when anyone even looks…but Dean hasn’t seen him this angry in a very, very long time. So right now, who knows what he’s capable of.

“I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what, Dean? You didn’t know? You don’t care?” He leans in impossibly closer. “Do you know what they say about you?”

“Yeah, I know.” Because Dean does know. He hears it every fucking day down at the playpen. “I’m a mongrel. I don’t belong in Garrison.”

“But they’re right, aren’t they? I paid Alastair good money for you, little one, but only because he ripped me off. And I didn’t care, did I, because I wanted you no matter the cost, because I enjoyed you on one simple occasion, and there you were, wrapped up in a neat little bow for my taking. Don’t assume you’re worth anything here Dean, just because I think otherwise. You were a good fuck, and that’s all they will ever see you as. Right now, that’s all _I_ see you as. They look at you like you’re scum because you are. And now you’ve deflowered a very promising sell and they will hate you all the more for it and you’ve dragged me straight down with you. You’re adding fuel to a very dangerous fire, Dean, mark my words; when the time comes, I will be helpless to save you.”

Somewhere along the way, Dean had closed his eyes against that harsh, bitter voice, but they snap open again when he feels the weight lift off the bed. Castiel stands beside it, his eyes harsh and bitter when they look down on him, spreading like butter over his barely covered body. Dean turns his head away, abashed.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” he says, because he’s a week motherfucker.

“I already told you Dean,” Castiel sighs. “Your apology is worthless. I will find Adam, and ask him to bring you food, but that is all. You’ll stay exactly where you are until further notice. Good night.”

“But this is your bed,” Dean says, looking back up at the now retreating form. “Where are you gonna stay?”

Cas sighs again. “I do not wish to see you right now, so I will not be staying here; and I certainly don’t wish to touch you, so I will not be moving you into your own room. Do you understand?” Dean nods with his chin jutted out stubbornly. “You made even bigger laughing stocks of us Dean, and up until now I didn’t believe that possible. Yet you always do manage to evade my expectations, don’t you?”

He walks out and Dean watches him go.

Great, now he feels like a prick. But why should he? Sure, everything Cas said was a hundred percent true, but it’s his own stupid fault for purchasing Dean in the first place. He should have just had his laugh and been on his way back at Alastair’s, but no, he had to _pay_ for Dean. Yep, his own dumb fault. How did he expect a _whore_ from the slums to act, huh? Dean wasn’t raised a pet, he wasn’t raised to bend over with the snap of two fingers and he certainly wasn’t raised to willingly roll over. He’s a Winchester for one thing and a Hunter for another. Damn Cas and his too high expectations. And fuck all of them, Lisa was hot.

Still, Dean manages to wallow in his own self-pity all the way up until Adam raps sharply on the door. Dean growls his reply and the dude walks in holding a tray with a pot and it’s steaming and damn, Dean’s hungry, he hasn’t freaking eaten a thing since this time yesterday. And it smells good.

But when Adam sets it down on the bedside table beside them and lifts a spoon full of soup towards Dean’s mouth, Dean turns away like a spoiled toddler and it ends up a burning puddle on his chest. To the kid’s credit, he wipes it up quickly.

“ _Ow_ , man,” Dean growls.

“Well, what did you move for then, dummy?” he says, retrieving another spoonful, though this time with a napkin held safely beneath.

Dean turns away again. “No, nuh-uh, I’m not eating like an imbecile, I do actually have working limbs, thank you very much.”

Adam sighs and replaces the spoon to the pot, sensing the upcoming argument like a champ. Dean almost smiles. He's taught him well.

“Castiel was very clear that I am not to let you out under any circumstances. Do you really think I’m going to out rightly disobey him? He’s probably watching right now.”

The kid's probably right, and even in his sulky state, Dean wouldn’t want him to get in trouble, too. Still, there’s no way he’s eating like this.

“I’ll choke if I eat laying down. And I’m sure, at this point, Cas wouldn’t want to miss out on that, now, would he? Just loosen the leg straps and I’ll be able to sit up.”

Adam looks deliberant for a few seconds, swimming away in his own thoughts and every now and then blinking up to where the camera should be. Finally, he lets out his breath, frowns at Dean and then moves to lengthen the stretch of fabric leading from Dean’s ankle cuff to the bottom of the bed. Dean pulls himself up using the top of the headboard.

The soup's just as good as it smells but Dean wants to eat, not drink. Cas knows he’s not soups biggest fan and that’s probably why it’s being baby fed straight into his mouth. Ugh, one of the many reasons Dean hates the dude being mad at him.

“You know, everyone’s talking about it,” Adam says finally, halfway through the bowl already. “What you did to Lisa…”

“Woah, what I _‘did’_ to Lisa?” Dean turns his head in protest of the food. “The hell d’you mean, what I ‘did’ to her?”

Adam looks confused for a second, but blinks it away. “Well, you had sex with her, I thought?”

Dean looks up at him, incredulous. “Yeah, last time I checked, sex still needed two people. I mean it’s not like I raped her, she was all gung-ho about it before…wait, she’s not saying I raped her, is she?”

“No…I don’t think so.”

“Then I didn’t do anything _to_ her. Well, I mean I did, but we both agreed to it beforehand.” Dean sighs and excepts another spoonful. “This is bullshit, you know that? How come I’m the only one locked up when she happily spread ‘em, too?”

“She _is_ being punished. And she’ll be punished again when someone outside of Garrison buys her.”

“Outside of Garrison? Why? I didn’t think there were many seraphim out there?”

“No seraph will want her now.” Adam pauses his movements with the spoon. “She’s used property and everyone knows it here. She’ll be a disgrace to whoever owns her.”

“Cas bought me and I was a slum rat.”

“And you’re a disgrace. It’s just how it works, Dean.”

Dean would bristle at the insult if it wasn’t so true. Huh. “What’s so great about Garrison, anyway? Least this way she’ll get to explore a bit.”

“And leave the only home she knows? Give up everything she’s ever worked for in her life just because you got horny and she didn’t want to say no to you? Yeah, really great.”

Dean gawps up at a stormy expression. “Woah, that’s not fair. And she came onto me first, so screw you very much, asshole. This ain’t all my responsibility despite what everyone’s saying, okay? Fuck you, Adam.” Dean turns away completely from the pot and the asshole and narrows his eyes on the closed blinds covering the whole-wall window. He’s totally not crying, he’s a man, for Christ’s sake. But he doesn’t look around to Adam leaving because there is liquid in his eyes and he doesn’t want the kid getting any ideas.

“She messed up Dean, but so did you. And now Cas doesn’t even want to _see_ you, so you must have really offended him. Just make it right, please, he deserves more than this.”

And Dean waits for the door to shut before shouting at it, “He stole my life! Fuck you, he doesn’t deserve anything!”

And yeah, okay, he’s crying like a little girl. But fuck everything then, because Dean never asked for any of this, he never wanted to become a Garrison pet, he fucking hates the idea. And he’ll never get to see his friends again or his baby brother and he’ll never fuck another person on his own terms. Well, fuck. Them. All. Dean misses his life before Castiel ever step foot in it.

 

_Two years ago…_

 

“Yo, Dean!” Dean turns around with a grin already forming on his face and his hand lifts into a birdy before the next sentence is even uttered. “Give ‘em one from me!”

And yep, Dean thrusts his middle finger high into the air, proudly displaying his manhood in all its leather half-gloved glory. Isaac’s a cool guy but damn, can he be an ass. And if he’s really so jealous of Dean’s night job, he should just whore himself out on the streets and get what’s coming to him. No offence to the dude, but Crowley wouldn’t pay him shit.

And the thought brinks a smug smirk to Dean’s face as he revs his baby up and takes off down the street towards said night job. He’s pretty sure he should feel skeevy about it, and sure, sometimes he feels like he’s bowing down to his slums heritage, but it pays the bills and keeps Sammy in school, so screw it. And it’s not that bad. Some nights, anyway. Other nights he has to practically crawl home because baby’s seat is just too ominous for his throbbing ass. And he hasn’t told Sam. Sammy just thinks he’s working late serving drinks at Crowley’s bar, and sometimes he does. Generally only if he’s too beat up from the night before, though. But mostly, he’s in the back waiting for the next customer, be that male or female, anal or blowjob, Dean does it all. Fuck it, it pays the bills, right?

He arrives at the bar early, so he parks Baby in the parking lot out back and leaves the building to grab some fresh air. Or not. The only thing outside of Crowley’s is a main road and you only ever get on that thing if you’re leaving the slums, and a lot of people do. Still, the congested noise is a decent relief, so Dean decides to take a stroll.

And honestly, it was meant to be _just_ a stroll. He wasn’t planning anything, he didn’t expect to instantly see a pretty fitting mark waltz right in front of his vision the second he stepped outside, but that’s what happens. And who’s Dean to pass up easy money?

The guys so freaking easy it hurts. He’s bedazzled in so much shit, it’s totally inevitable that he’s a sorry-ass, loser visitor to the slums with his shoulders around his ears and his hands too far deep into his pockets, so if Dean doesn’t do it then someone else will. Screw that.

His hands reaching out already and he’ll just trip slightly, pretend to fall into the guy and walk it off, embarrassed because with morons like this, that always works. Dean can see the wallet’s bulge inside his fancy coat and just one more step, the wallet’s all his…

“ _Gah_!”

Fuckity fuck, that fucking hurts because Dean’s arm is dragged back and away in the nanosecond he was away from the wallet and it’s now bent right up against his back. _Ow_.

“Hey, get the hell off’a me!” he shouts, but the strong hand holding his jerks sharply upwards and Dean’s dragged with it and yup, it’s gonna pop from his socket any second now… “You fucking broke my arm, you asshole!”

“I didn’t break your arm, actually,” says a really, really deep voice, all up in Dean’s ear. He nudges it slightly to make the point and Dean’s up on his toes by now, teeth gritted at the pressure. “Not that I couldn’t. Should I?” And it actually sounds like a question.

“Uh, no?” Dean sneers, sucking in whatever air he can get as quickly as he can get it. “Let me go.”

“There’s no need to be rude to me, little one,” it says. Dean blinks away the liquid in his eyes (from the shock) and his heart beats with humiliation at number of people watching the scene, and then it halts altogether when he watches their eyes travel to Dean’s back at the man, widen, and they’re off back hurriedly on their way. _Oh, shit_. Who’s got Dean’s arm? “I was simply ensuring you didn’t fall. I think that’s a relatively decent thing for me to do, don’t you?”

No, no, no, no. _Dick_.

“Castiel?” another voice calls, and this time, at least Dean can see its owner as he cuts through the crowd and appears in front of them with some shit-eating smirk…no. No, it’s not a seraph because they don’t come to the slums, not ever. Okay, well sometimes, but Dean’s never seen one out here…except for the one stood right there with his arms folding and – Dean would bet his apartment – the one currently breaking his arm. Awesome.

“Give me a moment, Gabriel,” this _Castiel_ guy says (fucking typical poncey Garrison names). Gabriel rolls his eyes and quirks an eyebrow right up into his sandy hair. He’s short, shorter than Dean, but it’s still so obvious of his heritage, Dean automatically lowers his gaze. Ugh. The deep voice hisses into his ear, “You know, mongrel, I don’t approve of this sort of thing. If you want money, _earn it_.”

“Says…you,” Dean hisses out, clutching onto seriously fine breaths.

Castiel laughs. “Oh? You don’t think I earn my money?”

Dean laughs, too, though his is much weaker. “I fucking _know_ you don’t.”

“Castiel, quick picking up strays will you?” Gabriel says, walking their way and patting the unseen man on what Dean will assume is his shoulder. “You don’t know where this mutt’s been.” And then he passes out of sight.

And when Dean’s arm is released back to him, he nearly drops to the ground in relief, but he doesn’t. He just draws it to him and cradles it in the other one, holding the tender thing to his chest like a baby. His shoulder is gonna hate him in the morning. He slowly turns to Castiel.

The first thing Dean notices is his eyes. Piercing, cutthroat blue eyes like the endless sky when he takes Sammy up to the top floor roof of the school and they dream about another world. Black hair too scruffy for who he is, but it’s unmistakable. The man’s a seraphim, no doubt about it. Yeah, Dean’s pretty fucking screwed, there is no way this guy’s gonna let him get away with this crap.

So, obviously, when the guy huffs at him and moves to turn away, Dean grabs his shoulder and swings him around again. It’s only when those eyes hit him again that he realises what he’s just done. Fuck, Dean, smooth dude.

“Did you want something, mutt?” he asks, his voice all warning.

Yeah, fuck this guy. “You’re just letting me go? Seriously?”

Castiel-guy smiles and taps his nose knowingly. “Let’s just call it a favour, shall we?”

And then he’s gone, back into the crowd like nothing ever happened. Huh.

 

By the time Dean shows up at Crowley’s he’s late and isn’t that just poetic. He all but runs into the back, where the other whores go and throws off his jacket onto the chair before anyone can notice, already stripping. Obviously, that’s when Crowley walks in.

“Ah, Dean!” he says, moving in closer and slapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean winces.

“In my defence, I was actually early, but-”

“Ah, ah, ah Dean,” he says, patting Dean’s back. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not a problem.” Dean frowns suspiciously. Right. Not a problem his left ball. “In fact,” here we go, “it works out for the best. You see, Ennis is sick tonight so we’re in desperate need for someone else on floor and I know you-”

“No,” Dean says. Fucking is one thing but lap-dancing some dude in front of everyone? No thank you. “No way, Crowley, you know I don’t do that crap…”

“Don’t be modest, Dean, you’re very good at ‘that crap’. Think of it this way, squirrel, you get out there and dance that hot little ass off and I look over your fourth late of the month. How about that?” Dean groans. “And you get to keep the tips.”

“Fucking… _fine_ ,” Dean says, already feeling his cheeks heat with the embarrassment. God, he hasn’t done this crap in like, a year, and he was really planning never to again.  
“That’s what I thought. You remember the rules? You touch them, they don’t touch you, they offer you money, you go in the back and fuck ‘em. Good? Good.”

And then Crowley’s gone out the door and Dean’s left with those stupid tight shorts he always relentlessly taunts Ennis about. Good thing he’s sick then. Or not…whatever. Dean strips the rest of his apparel off and shimmies into the damn things. He looks at the fresh whore in the mirror and balks. What if by some fucking fluke one of the gang’s out there? Or what if someone _really_ notices the hunter tattoo on his chest and goes back to flaunt it at everyone, because that would seriously suck. Most of the group knows, but that doesn’t mean he wants them witnessing…this mockery. Screw the stupid seraphim for making him late.

The music’s sucky and dumb, but Dean notices someone eyeing him from his assigned perch, so he sways over to them. They wave a few notes at him as if dancing on this fat fuckers lap is worth anything right now – but of course it is, otherwise Dean wouldn’t do it. So he clambers onto the chair until he’s straddling the dude’s thighs and he rocks back and forth like he should, almost to the crappy music. His arms above his head, then his hands on the back of the chair, then rubbing at the guy’s shoulders, his face right up to his. He can feel the hard on pressing into his thigh, so he winks and trails a hand down the guy’s rotund stomach, rubs at his crotch, keeping in time with his rocking. He knows the man’s hands are white clutching to the chair’s arms, probably from the effort it takes not to touch. Well, good for him. Most people just do.

The dude’s seconds from coming and Dean’s pretty willing to take him there with the cover of khaki fabric and the promise of a decent tip, but everything freezes in Dean’s mind when his eyes narrow in on blue, like the endless sky.

 _Shit_.

Somehow, almost a complete stranger being here and witnessing this bullshit is harder to handle than if Sammy was. And Castiel’s not even blinking from his seat, his face is a careful blank mask as he watches Dean do his thing, and by the looks of it, he’s seen the whole thing. Great. Fucking awesome.

The fat guy whines pathetically underneath him and Dean bows his head down to look, though he’s not really seeing the bulging eyes peeking back up at him. As compensation, he drops his hand altogether and rubs his crotch directly against the guy and, like Dean’d hoped, he comes in seconds. So Dean leaves with an encouraged dick and pants full of cash which he’s actually okay with. And Crowley said he can keep all of it…

Dean walks up to Castiel like a champ, all poise and strength and he thinks he might pull it off as well, despite the freaking panties he dons. At least Castiel looks the fleeting bit surprised when he stands stock still before him, but the mask is back within seconds.

And he doesn’t react when Dean clambers onto his lap and whispers right into his ear, just like he did with Dean less than an hour ago, “I don’t make a habit of owing people favours,” and then he’s up again, just like that. Castiel stands when Dean nods with his head, and then they’re both walking to the back rooms.

“Yeah, fuck you too, Cas!” Gabriel shouts, but Dean pays him no attention and apparently neither does Castiel.

“So, when you’re not pick-pocketing, you’re fucking men for money?” he says nonchalantly, the second Dean shuts the door of the room behind them.

Dean forces himself to smile. “Not just men. Women’ll pay, too, you’d probably be surprised actually.”

“I’m sure,” he says, and his eyes drag over Dean’s body like a rake, every single cell they touch Dean can feel like fire prickling against his nerves.

Dean loops around the room, moving around the circular bed smack bang in the centre until he’s completely opposite Castiel and they can stare off at each other until one of them loses and wrecks the silence. Apparently, it’s Castiel.

“What makes you think I would go near a mongrel such as yourself?”

Dean shrugs. “I figure you must be curious if you’re in the room with me. What, you can’t handle it? Am I too rough for your pampered tastes, princess? You gonna run home to your precious little pets so they can drool all over you?... Have you ever even _been_ with a free man before?”

Castiel slings his hands casually down into his pant pockets. “That’s a lot of question’s, mutt.”

Dean growls, “My names _Dean_ , dick.”

But to his surprise, Castiel just gives an expectant smile and nods in understanding.

“Dean. Good.”

Dean’s head turns fuzzy for a few seconds as he watches the man’s stupidly surreal gaze hover over him, but then he shakes back to himself and begins the game. He begins stalking round the bed like a cat might stalk its prey.

“So, what d’you say? Does this settle our debt, Castiel? If I let you fuck me however you see fit, are we square?”

Castiel’s smile widens a fraction before dulling out again. “I think that could work.”

Dean’s near him now and he notices he’s actually taller than the seraph which is surprisingly satisfying, so he slowly circles him.

“Well, as long as you think you can handle me, of course. I understand you’re not accustomed to your bed partners having free-will, so this will probably be stranger for you…”  
Dean pauses when he feels the same hand grip the same arm and he actually flinches for a second before realising it’s not painful, and he looks play-coyly up into the man’s eyes.

“Who said anything about free-will?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said, ‘however I see fit’ and I take words very seriously. So how about it Dean? Do you think you can live up to the expectations of a Garrison pet? Or are you really nothing more than a common whore?”

And something about those sentences strung together has a grin wide on Dean’s face because then he’s flattened against Castiel’s front, nose burying deep into the black hair along his nape.

“Bring it on,” he says, although his voice is muffled by the flesh against his mouth.

He’s shoved backwards in the next second, tripping on the edge of the bed and falling heavily onto the mattress and comforter until his eyes fuzz up for a second. They regain real vision to Castiel standing above him. “What the-” Dean tries, but his words are halted harshly by the foot nudging insistently against his crotch.

“Pets don’t speak unless spoken to, Dean, you know that. Now quiet, little one.” The foot moves and Dean scrambles back to make room on the bed, but Castiel doesn’t move an inch. “Take the shorts off.” Dean does. “I won’t you to open yourself up, can you do that?” Dean gives a look to say, _do you really have to ask that?_ before he lifts one pillow from the edges of the bed to reveal a small packet of lube and a few condoms. Dean coats his fingers with the lube (cookies and cream flavoured) and looks up to Castiel with a wicked glint in his eyes before spreading his legs and shoving two fingers straight inside. Even if he means to do it, he can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips. “That’s good, Dean, I like noise.” And Dean checks, but nothing in Cas’ pants stir. He would be offended, he’s sure, but getting himself off to get out of a favour is perfectly okay with him. He keeps up the rhythmic thrusting, stretching himself out and accustoming himself with the slow burn before he adds a third finger, stroking that sweet fucking spot inside of him that has his toes curling onto the purple sheets. “How old are you, Dean?”

“Seventeen,” he whines, thinking too late that seventeen _shouldn’t_ be his real age, Crowley’ll kill him if he finds out he’s blabbed.

“Good,” Castiel says. “That’s good, Dean. Fourth finger, Dean, and don’t restrain yourself, please.”

Amen to that, Dean thinks. The fourth finger fits in pretty easily and he twists them round, in out in out until they slide happily against the rim, the faint slap of sticky fingers hitting his flesh a seriously erotic sound. Anywhere outside of the bedroom, it’d be gross, but right now he just goes faster to make it louder and he moans a few times along with it. Cas likes it loud and so does Dean. Perfect.

When Dean feels Castiel brush up against his shin, he’s not expecting it and his eyes span open from where he didn’t know he’d closed them, and he looks up at the fully clothed man. He flinches, but Cas’ hand lands on his knee and strokes softly, and Dean just sinks into it.

“Turn over,” he orders, and Dean climbs over onto his knees obediently. He’s _playing_ pet, that’s all. Though it’s not a bad game, actually. “Spread your legs, as far as you can. Good.”

And when he sinks straight inside, his still clothed hips hitting the globes of Dean’s ass, Dean really can’t help the shocked moan that erupts out of him. At least he knows he’s hard now. He starts moving but it’s only slightly, only these tiny little thrusts as he flicks his pelvis against Dean and it’s really, really not enough, so Dean tries to rock back on him-

“No,” he snaps, and hands appear at Dean’s hips like steel vices. “You will be still unless I condone it.”

And he just keeps going with these little snappy motions, until Dean starts shaking from the force of keeping still, his hands glow white beside the rich purple on the bed and he’s gonna _die_ if he doesn’t get some kind of relief soon. In perfect unison, Cas’ hands push Dean forward and slam him back into him, their grunts filling the room. Dean all but fucking wails. He repeats the movement but he does so slowly, several seconds passing between each shove and Dean feels every single one like a bucket of ice water.

Dean shifts slightly, letting one hand up to try a rub at his neglected cock, but it’s batted fiercely away before he can managed even one tiny stroke.

“You move when I say so,” Castiel growls straight into his ear. “You will come one my cock alone, or you will not come at all. Do you understand?” When Dean doesn’t answer, he actually freaking _pulls out_ and says, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!” Dean chokes, wanting so badly to rub his ass back at the pressure and get what he needs, but he halts himself because he’s not fucking supposed to. Ugh. “ _Please_ , Cas,” he splutters.

“Hush, little one,” Castiel says, stroking a hand through his sweaty hair. He’s not ‘little’ in any sense, thank you… “You’re doing so well, Dean, such a good pet.” He accents his words with tilts of his hips until finally he comes straight into contact with that wonderful bundle of nerves deep inside Dean and Dean cries out. “Do you want to come, Dean?”

Yes fucking please. “Please,” he pants, his head dropping down beneath his arms. “ _Please_.”

“Ssh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he croons, kissing his lips against Dean’s spine. “Hush, baby, I’ll make it good for you.”

But the tiny jabs keep coming and Dean’s still a quivering mess five minutes later. Until Cas finally seems to sense Dean’s total disorientation and he shoves inside, once, twice, three times and Dean’s just fucking _gone_ , his arm bowing beneath him and his thighs finally giving way until he face plants the comforter in his own sticky patch. He barely registers Castiel pulling out, only slightly acknowledging the twinge and pull at his rim before he blinks dazedly up at the man.

“You didn’t come?” he says.

Castiel smiles and tucks himself back into his pants. “I don’t enjoy making habits either, Dean.”

And when Dean wakes up after however many minutes of apparently being passed out, he’s gone. And Dean doesn’t expect to see him anytime soon.

 

Dean loves long days at the track with his baby; he’ll spend fucking hours at the place, spitting up dirt, running circles round all those other sons of bitches. She is one sexy little number, Dean’ll give her that.

And he’s walking Baby off the track when he sees the man, leant up against Dean’s locker.

“Can I, uh, help you with something?” Dean says.

The man smiles devilishly and winks. “My names Alastair and I do believe you can.”


End file.
